


A Brief History of Magic

by generalzero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Science Wizard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Background Poly, Background Relationships, Fairy Tale Curses, Gen, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intelligent Harry, Mostly Gen, Multi, NO ONE EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION, Old Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science, Stephen Hawking - Freeform, The Inquisition - Freeform, Time Travel, Wandless Magic, World History, a fic about the Science Wizard from the Leaky Cauldron in the third movie, canon compliant up to PoA, don't fuck with the fey, hastily done research, mostly canon compliant until GoF, the Fair Folk, theoretical physics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 04:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalzero/pseuds/generalzero
Summary: The wizard's been there every morning since Harry arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, working his way through a thin little book called A Brief History of Time. It doesn't look very much like a magical book, and the man himself doesn't look very much like a wizard. Sometimes, though, Harry comes down for breakfast and catches him stirring an excessive amount of sugar into his tea—wandlessly.





	A Brief History of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> So in movie #3 as Harry is walking into the Leaky Cauldron there's a shot of a dude wandlessly stirring his tea while reading a Brief History of Time by Stephen fucking Hawking. Tumblr is of the opinion that he must be a badass science wizard, and official outlets suggest the choice of book is a reference to the time travel element of the film. The only reason the shot exists is for a celebrity cameo, but clearly this is a story that needs to be told. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Warnings: Nothing not seen in the 3rd book (so like, dementors and murder). Harry is abused, that's canon even if Rowling didn't do shit with it—but not a focus in this story. Science Wizard occasionally forgets not to swear around impressionable young teens.

Focus. Go over it again. Time moves in one direction: thus the arrow metaphor. But there are three different arrows. Does that mean there are a three totally different concepts all subsumed into the name Time? Or is Time split up into three different parts, one for each arrow? Tangent, nevermind, focus on the arrows. Thermodynamic, psychological, cosmological. Can a single magical event affect the entire cosmos at once? Unlikely. Thermodynamics, now, magic definitely affects that. Broken cups turn unbroken all the time for magic-users. Magic can reverse the thermodynamic arrow of Time, but that's not time travel. At least, probably not. Ugh, why couldn't this man be a wizard? Focus. Psychological arrow. Definitely susceptible to magic, but unless this is a very, very elaborate hallucination, time travel is not purely psychological. Could it be a combination of the arrows? Can the arrows even be combined? And what about the disruption of space during the transitions—

"Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?"

Startled, Niall loses control of the spoon he's been idly spinning in his tea and its momentum sends it clattering across the table, nearly toppling the mug with it. Niall raises his book in the air to keep the splashy bits of tea from getting at it and makes a half-hearted attempt to catch the spoon before it slides right off the end of the table. Bit embarrassing, that. Niall knows he will never get the knack of constant alertness, not with his tendency to hyper-focus, but he is apparently also a touch out of practice with his magic. Spending too much time among the mundanes, probably.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to—"

Niall peers at the teenager who accosted him: Indian complexion, baggy clothes, round spectacles, currently diving under the table to retrieve Niall's spoon. Niall doesn't know the kid. Niall doesn't know most people, in fact. Flitting here and there and back and forward doesn't make it easy to collect friends. And there are rules.

Perhaps stop gawking and say something, offers the part of Niall's mind whose main occupation is pulling him down out of the clouds and activating his survival instinct. 

Jumping into action, Niall snaps his fingers at the rag sitting on the edge of the bar, calling it to him. Taking a moment to mark his place in the book, he scoots out of his chair and sets the book safely on the seat before wiping up the spilled tea on the table. There's a cleaning spell for this situation, Niall knows, but currently his head is too full of thermodynamics to remember Latin he never even properly learned—and really, how much harder is it to use a rag? The teenager is up from under the table, looking a little embarrassed as he sets Niall's errant spoon down on the tabletop. Or maybe teenagers are just perpetually embarrassed. Niall seems to remember a stage like that happening to him.

"I'll go get you another spoon, sorry to bother you." The kid is already edging away, expression painfully apologetic, eyes on his trainers.

"No, no it's fine," Niall says quickly. "I was just mucking about with it, really. Tea's gone cold anyway." Niall glances from his half-full, mostly cooled mug of tea to the steaming cup and plate of biscuits next to it that hadn't been there before the interruption. The kid had asked to sit there. Probably his tea then. "You were, ah, going to sit down?" Niall starts the sentence as an offer, to soothe the kid's embarrassment, but ends it as more of a question, wondering why the issue of sitting here arose in the first place. It's a slow morning, now that the rush of Londoners commuting through to Diagon is over. Plenty of seats left in the pub.

Brightening, the kid meets Niall's gaze hopefully. Vibrant green eyes—Niall freezes, heart pounding for a moment before he manages to pull himself back to the present. Niall hasn't seen glittering green like that since… Don't think about it. False alarm, anyway. The shade isn't quite the same, although the fey glitter of old magic is slightly alarming. Still, just a coincidence. Or Niall's jumpy nerves.

Focus. The kid is talking.

"…if it's not any trouble? I wanted to ask you about… well, about two things, actually."

The last dregs of complex temporal theory slosh away into the sea of Niall's subconscious as survival mode clicks neatly into place. Questions are rarely good news. Niall has never been good at keeping track of a lie. Even relatively innocuous topics hold the potential for disaster. Something as simple as the date can get Niall in trouble. Particularly the date, in fact.

Remember the rules: Focus. Smile. Be easy-going, forgettable. Resist the urge to lie or over-share. Niall waves the teenager into the chair opposite his seat, sets his book on the table and then seats himself. He waves at Tom behind the bar and gestures at his tea. "Half a tick," the barkeep calls.

Surest strategy for avoiding sticky subjects: move the focus of conversation onto the other party. Niall winks at the kid and steals one of his biscuits. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

A slight hitch in the kid's expression—interesting. Niall's mind latches onto the detail. It's an attractive distraction from the string of dead ends that lead to Hawking's book. Niall can never resist a puzzle.

The puzzle in question shrugs. "Not really." The kid doesn't offer any further explanation, or a suggestion of where said parents might be. He glances between the spoon on the tabletop and Niall's book. Finally he settles on the book. "Is that a muggle book?"

"It's an infuriating book," Niall grumbles, time arrows lingering on the edge of his focus, greedy for attention. "Yes. It's about theoretical physics."

The kid reaches for the book, then hesitates. When Niall nods his permission, he picks it up and inspects it. "A Brief History of Time. From the Big Bang to Black Holes." Flipping the cover open to the summary page, the kid frowns. "I don't understand any of this."

"A little dense, isn't it?" Niall says dryly. "Supposedly it's written for the lay-person, but I get the feeling I'm a little too far out of the loop when it comes to modern science." Niall needs to rectify that. Maybe find a study book for the A levels. Yes, that will give him a well-rounded survey without taking him out of his depth—and cut down on the number of books to work through. He's been reading so much his eyes are due to fall out any day now, but there's not really time to waste on resting, is there? Niall always has either too little time or too much, and he never knows which it will be.

"Aren't all wizards?" the kid says, setting the book down carefully and picking up his tea. "Magic kinda cancels out science anyway, doesn't it?"

Magic cancels out science. Niall takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. "Is that what they're teaching kids these days?"

The kid freezes mid sip, body tensing so quickly that Niall automatically begins to mirror the reaction, certain something dangerous must have just slipped into the bar. But nothing out of the ordinary reveals itself when Niall glances around, nor even when he quickly mutters a detection spell. Nothing.

Niall forces himself to relax. Lots of false alarms today. But the kid is still tense. Good at hiding it—just a shift in weight and a tightening around the eyes—but still. What happened? There wasn't anything threatening around…

Puzzle pieces shuffle together with Niall's memories until the right combination of details catches his attention. 1610, the thrice-cursed Caribbean. Salt from the sea-spray drying into sunburns layered on top of slightly older sunburns. Head pounding in the ceaseless sun and trembling with chills Niall didn't yet realize were due to malaria. And constantly watching the first-mate for the slightest sign of irritation or boredom—there isn't anything threatening at all here in the Leaky Cauldron. But if the kid has ever known someone as vicious as the sailor who press-ganged Niall into playing weather-mage for the bloody East India Trading company, then an older, more powerful wizard showing obvious disapproval—like Niall rolling his eyes—might very well be threatening.

Damn shame that despite all the bragging over the superiority of modern society, neither the muggle nor magical community has made much of an effort to stop people from abusing children. 

"Magic doesn't cancel out science any more than science cancels out magic," Niall says, keeping his tone light in an effort to defuse the tension without letting on that he's noticed it. "Did you know that the magical community had no cure for polio until a group of potioneers studied the Salk vaccine and developed a magical solution based off what they'd learned? Not to mention the fact that modern plumbing and sewage systems were developed completely by the non-magical community. Technically, cleaning and banishment charms could do the same job, but in my opinion a hot shower beats scourgify any day."

That last remark has the kid nodding thoughtfully—and looking more relaxed. "I guess I took that stuff for granted. Merlin, if I'd said science didn't matter in front of Hermione she'd probably hex me. Or make me read books like that." He gestured at A Brief History of Time, tone clearly suggesting that the latter option was worse.

"This Hermione is your tutor?" An absent question, meant to keep the conversation focused squarely on the kid—but people don't use tutors these days, do they? Standardized schooling has largely replaced private instruction, even in the magical community. Niall barely stops himself from wincing at the mistake.

"She's my friend," the kid says amidst a laugh, "but I supposed she tutors me a lot, too."

The slip went right over the kid's head. Good. Probably time to move this conversation along, before Niall can make another, less innocent slip. "Well, now we've answered the question of why I'm reading a muggle book and agreed that science benefits us all, are you going ask me about wandless magic?"

"How'd you know that was my question?" the kid asks, eyebrows shooting upwards to hide under his messy fringe. 

Niall's answer is delayed by the arrival of Tom with fresh tea. Classic Chinese green, not really meant for sweetening, but Niall begins dumping sugar into it. Isn't as if it can measure up to the original stuff, anyway, and Niall has spent too large a portion of his life without access to processed sugar to waste even a single opportunity to enjoy it. Tom eyes the near-empty sugar bowl with disapproval but doesn't comment, likely because Niall is paying for one of the best rooms at the inn. Luxury is another one of those things Niall rarely has access to, despite a Gringotts account that's been slowly gathering interest for centuries.

Once relative privacy is re-established, Niall speaks. "With all the delights of Diagon Alley less than sixty feet away, I'd say there really isn't anything about me interesting enough to grab a teenager's attention. Except"—Niall waved his new spoon into the air and set it to stirring again—"this. And even then I'm surprised you didn't choose Diagon."

The kid shrugs, eyes glued to the spoon. "I've been here all month. There's only so many places to go, and if I walk by that Firebolt again I'm going to finally crack and buy it."

All month? Kid must be staying at the Leaky, then. Not many other long-term lodgings this close to Diagon. Still no sign of parents, although just because Niall hasn't seen them doesn't mean they aren't upstairs or out running errands. That hesitation when Niall mentioned them, though… A runaway? More than likely, judging from the kid's jumpiness. But what runaway has pocket change for a month's room and board at the Leaky? Niall's interest edges past the simple desire for distraction and into the territory of actual intrigue. "Are you and your family on vacation?" Niall asks casually, still swirling the spoon in his mug.

The kid looks up sharply, a strange expression on his face. Possibly suspicion, possibly confusion. Like before, the look smooths over with surprising speed. "No, I'm just staying here until term starts."

The kid is deflecting him! So Niall is not the only one withholding something from the conversation. Before Niall can properly sink his teeth into the puzzle, however, reality settles around him like a depressing raincloud. There are rules: Don't get involved. Focus on being forgettable. Don't give anyone a reason to remember you.

With considerably less enthusiasm than before, Niall guides the spoon out of the mug, makes it zoom around the plate of biscuits for the kid's enjoyment and then sets it down. "So, you were going to ask about wandless magic."

The kid picks up the spoon as if he might be able to see the evidence of magic on it. "That's so cool. You didn't even have to say a spell." He looks at Niall with admiration. "What else can you do?"

Now it's Niall's turn to deflect. He sips his tea. "A few things. I've got a knack for charms. It's not that impressive, really."

The kid clearly does not share that opinion, judging from the snort and the look accusing Niall of false modesty. "Hermione says that only really powerful wizards can do wandless magic."

"False," Niall corrects, careful this time to keep his tone easy. "It's not a question of power but dedication. You have to be persistent."

The kid's skeptical expression doesn't fade: another deficiency of modern education, then. Niall tries to explain: "Using magic, for humans anyway, is largely a matter of focus and intent. Things like wands and incantations improve your focus, but they're not required. The main advantage of a wand is that it makes casting easier to do when your attention is split, like in a duel." Point in case: Niall has always been pants at dueling. It's a wonder he's survived this long.

That last bit earns a solemn nod, as if the kid truly understand how chaotic duels can be. "So anyone could learn to use wandless magic?"

Niall shakes his head. "No. I don't think just anyone can use wandless magic. I don't even think most people could. Because most people don't have a good enough reason to do so. Why go through the trouble to learn when a wand makes things so much easier?"

Niall doesn't even realize he's talked himself into a corner until the kid calls him on it: "So why did you learn then?"

Lovely. Niall takes a long drink of tea, buying time. No way to duck out of this one. Not without lying or very transparently avoiding the question. Focus. This is what happens without focus. Shouldn't have brought it up. Shouldn't have talked to the kid in the first place. Shouldn't have been using magic for something as trivial as tea. 

Focus. Smile. Be easy-going, forgettable. Resist the urge to lie or over-share. Say something. "I have a bad habit of losing my wand."

True enough. So true, in fact, that Niall has given up on them entirely. He hasn't had a wand since the second time the Inquisition snatched him up in France and snapped the maple one he'd been using. Wasn't much of a loss, honestly. Niall gets along fine with maple, but nothing will ever match his first wand. Niall is almost glad they don't make wands out of vine and puca whiskers anymore, even in Ireland. Saves him the heartache of buying a replacement and inevitably finding out it doesn't feel the same as the one Gavin made for him. An amateur's work: crookedly bound and with mis-spelled runes, the live moss sealed into the handle always on the verge of splitting the whole wand. Every so often it backfired magnificently. Niall's fingers ache to hold it again.

Niall suddenly feels much older than his thirty years. He can't tell if he's tired of this conversation or tired of something else entirely.

The kid seems to accept Niall's explanation as the deflection it is with good humor and move on. Maybe he's used to people keeping secrets. "Do you think I could learn?"

"Maybe." Niall doubts it. Kid can't be more than thirteen, what thirteen year old is interested in doing magic the hard way? In doing anything the hard way? But. No need to discourage the kid. "Do you have a good enough reason?"

There is that strange look again, this time definitely sharpening towards suspicion. The kid looks away briefly, brushing a hand through his hair. The absent action sweeps his fringe to one side; Niall notices a vivid scar that arcs from his hair line to just shy of his brow, shaped like a spiderweb or a lightning bolt. Unique, that. Then, with the same overly casual tone Niall himself used earlier, the kid says: "I think I need every advantage I can get right now, don't you? What with Sirius Black on the loose and all."

Missing something. Niall is missing something. Focus. The name Sirius Black is familiar, but Niall can't place it. Niall hasn't been paying attention to gossip or current events since he got here, instead diving headfirst into the nearest library. So stupid. There are rules. There's a formula for staying safe and Niall didn't stick to it. Reading about physics and history when he should have been buying rounds for the bar every night and reaping information from loose tongues…

What's the right answer here? "If you say so," Niall hedges.

The kid looks far too thoughtful for Niall's comfort. Niall has been wrong-footed for practically this entire conversation. Enough is enough. Time to cut his losses, and Niall knows just how to do it. He's not the only one with a secret, and he has the advantage of not being underage. If push comes to shove and other adults get involved, they'll listen to Niall before some runaway teenager. Unfair, but useful. Maybe a reminder of that will persuade the kid to drop the whole thing and go away. Niall takes a moment to shuffle the conversation's puzzle pieces together into a complete picture.

"You're here all by yourself, right?"—the kid's eyes widen—"You don't like your parents, or they don't like you. Maybe because you're a wizard and they're non-magical. You've run off and are hiding in Diagon Alley until term starts at Hogwarts. Am I missing anything?"

The look of consternation on the kid's face is very satisfying, and certainly confirms Niall's theory, but it's troublingly brief, and completely lacking in any trace of alarm. If anything, the kid looks a bit smug. "You're just missing one thing actually. My name." Now the damn kid actually grins. "You have no idea who I am. I thought at first you were being polite or pretending or something. Or that you were foreign, but your brogue's even worse than Seamus's and I know they've heard of me over there. And you're clearly not a muggle, so… I have no idea how you've never heard of me. You barely even looked at my scar. Mind you, that's kind of refreshing."

Niall blinks several times, baffled by the kid's rambling. In his confusion, he instinctively reverts to his last resort for these situations. "I was on the wrong side of an obliviate a few weeks ago."

It's a weak excuse at best. Kid clearly doesn't believe it.

"I've seen what someone's like after an obliviate bad enough to erase that much. Not really enough sense left for studying muggle science books." He gestures at Hawking's book. "So?"

Niall honestly isn't sure why he's still sitting here, backed into a conversational corner by someone half his age, closer to being found out than he has been in seven years—or several hundred, depending on how Hawking's damn time arrows work—instead of taking the smart option and fleeing the bar. And the country, possibly, if the kid is right about being so well-known everyone on the Isles ought to recognize him. There are rules. Niall should follow them and catch the first port-key to the continent.

But. The puzzle is incomplete. Niall can never resist a puzzle. "Fine. I give up. Why should I know who you are?"

The kid smiles triumphantly. "I'll tell you why you should if you tell me why you don't." 

Don't do it. There are rules: Don't get involved. Focus on being forgettable. Don't give anyone a reason to remember you.

The kid is leaning forward eagerly, tea and biscuits forgotten, obviously delighted by the mystery Niall presents. It's nice to meet someone else who loves a puzzle. 

Don't get involved. It will just end in tears. Don't give yourself a reason to miss anyone.

Niall starts to say no, to feign disinterest, to make some excuse for leaving—but the kid's eyes flash expectantly. Vibrant green eyes, not quite the same wild shade as the sly fey creature Niall met when he was seven, but with the same glitter of old magic, and that's a puzzle Niall isn't sure he wants to solve. He looks away.

Never talk to strangers in the woods, folks tell their children. And if you can't avoid it, then always be polite. For you never, never want to offend one of the fair folk. Niall should have listened. Instead he's spent the last two decades falling helplessly through time, thrown from one era to another, never knowing how long he'll be in one place or where he'll end up next. Cursed. Cursed with old, old magic that's left the same slight glitter in Niall's eyes as the kid has in his.

Niall has spent thirteen years trying to find a way to break the curse. Trying to find a way to get back to the people he left behind. What if he never does? There are rules, rules for staying alive and undetected—and if Niall keeps following them, he's going to spend the rest of his life being forgotten. 

Niall is tired of being forgotten.

Looking back at the kid, Niall wonders if the scar on his forehead has anything to do with the old magic glittering in his eyes. He makes a small circular gesture with his right hand to set up a muffling spell; then he holds it out for the kid to shake.

"My name is Niall, and I don't know who you are because I am an unlucky time traveler who only got here three weeks ago."


End file.
